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By way of explanation, I took yesterday off and stayed home in an attempt to shake a persistent cough. That meant that I needed to take the bus downtown around 1700 to get to my dinner date with the Proprietress. (Yes, I warned her. There were no snogs, sadly.)
This time the Shallow Fashion Details are actually germane to the rest of this entry: short-sleeved ruffly black cotton blouse, white velveteen skirt with black ruffles & gore, black patent 20-eyelet docs, bird skull brooch at the throat, big black spider-web-like earrings, usual rings,
So I sit down on the bus next to a young man in a sweatshirt with patchy facial hair. After a while he says, "What the hell are you doing?"
I gave him a look. "Sitting down," I said.
"Next stop."
"You need to get off at the next stop?"
"No, you're getting off at the next stop."
"Oh no, I'm going downtown."
"No you're not."
I got up and told the driver what happened. He looked back and said, "He looks real serious." Sure enough, he was glowering in that way that's so characteristic of certain kinds of mental illness. "Are there any other seats?"
"Sure." I sat down next no a young lady who was nodding off with her earbuds in, passing up a couple of other empty seats. I was pretty shaken as I walked most of the length of the bus.
Another young woman eventually sat next to the guy in the sweatshirt, which makes me wonder what it was about me that set him off. Being trans? Being Gothed up? Not that I should care, because I'm not going to stop being either one.
I made damn sure that he didn't get off at my stop. He was probably headed for the next stop, the courthouse where so many people like him gather.
Yeah, I know the mentally ill are more often targets of violence than perpetrators, but I had no idea how that was going to go for a second. It could have gone very badly sideways very quickly. Can we please get these fuckers some treatment?
Oh yeah, I was on my way to a dinner date. It was all perfectly lovely, sitting outdoors at Lecosho. I had a grilled haloumi salad because it reminded me of Sydney.
This time the Shallow Fashion Details are actually germane to the rest of this entry: short-sleeved ruffly black cotton blouse, white velveteen skirt with black ruffles & gore, black patent 20-eyelet docs, bird skull brooch at the throat, big black spider-web-like earrings, usual rings,
So I sit down on the bus next to a young man in a sweatshirt with patchy facial hair. After a while he says, "What the hell are you doing?"
I gave him a look. "Sitting down," I said.
"Next stop."
"You need to get off at the next stop?"
"No, you're getting off at the next stop."
"Oh no, I'm going downtown."
"No you're not."
I got up and told the driver what happened. He looked back and said, "He looks real serious." Sure enough, he was glowering in that way that's so characteristic of certain kinds of mental illness. "Are there any other seats?"
"Sure." I sat down next no a young lady who was nodding off with her earbuds in, passing up a couple of other empty seats. I was pretty shaken as I walked most of the length of the bus.
Another young woman eventually sat next to the guy in the sweatshirt, which makes me wonder what it was about me that set him off. Being trans? Being Gothed up? Not that I should care, because I'm not going to stop being either one.
I made damn sure that he didn't get off at my stop. He was probably headed for the next stop, the courthouse where so many people like him gather.
Yeah, I know the mentally ill are more often targets of violence than perpetrators, but I had no idea how that was going to go for a second. It could have gone very badly sideways very quickly. Can we please get these fuckers some treatment?
Oh yeah, I was on my way to a dinner date. It was all perfectly lovely, sitting outdoors at Lecosho. I had a grilled haloumi salad because it reminded me of Sydney.
